Then matters in Germany came to a crisis; the words of the Italian war lord stood in black type across the newspapers; and Japan was invading China. After a while, some persons here began to talk of the next war and they spoke with such hopeless resignation or with such fierce impatience that John was alarmed. He redoubled his efforts for peace. The audiences were small now and applause often ran into hisses; and then he was no longer asked to speak anywhere. Some of his townsfolk began to look at him with suspicious or hostile eyes. And the hostility grew. One by one his colleagues fell away and he and Jameson stood alone. The bishop under whom he had labored said a war between the United States and Japan was inevitable and declared that all the Japs ought to be driven out of the Idaho beet fields. He said Japan would conquer China and then come over and conquer the United States, and his talk excited people and made them argue for a large army and navy. He said all aliens should be driven from the nation’s shores. He said the depression had been caused by the millions of foreigners here, most of whom were communists and spies and the scum of earth. He said that any man who talked of peace when his country was surrounded by enemies was a communist and a traitor. “And you,” he said, looking at John with angry eyes, “you’d better watch your step.” “I believe in peace,” John said. “And so did Jesus.” “Our Lord, yes. But what did He know of the menace of Japs and communists and Fascists?” And the legend grew. It was rumored that John Benton and Arnold Jameson were communist agitators. Hadn’t they defended the Jews? And what were Jews but the worst damned breed of communist on earth! Didn’t they think that the confounded Japs should be allowed to thin Idaho beets, even though Idahoans starved? If they weren’t communists, then what in hell were they? And John Benton, bewildered, terrified, felt the growth of a mighty unfriendliness. Idlers in pool halls, on the streets, looked at him with skulking eyes. Men who had introduced him as our distinguished citizen did not speak to him now. He wrote a letter to his local paper, summarizing the argument of an eminent American who said Roosevelt might lead the nation into war to save his face. And then the crisis came. The paper declared one morning that Jameson had made remarks to his classes which were false and subversive and communistic, and that John Benton was in the pay of Russia. It demanded the dismissal of the one and the resignation of the other; and two days later Jameson was called before the trustees. There were five members on the board, including John; Cuthwright, the banker; a druggist; and a lawyer and the editor of the local newspaper. They sat at the head of a long table in the banker’s office and Jameson came in, looking anxiously from face to face. Cuthwright waved him to a chair. “Jameson, have you anything to say in your defense?” “What is the charge against me?”